Honor Crowned

by Michael G. Southwick

  She sat at a desk next to a window, the light shining on her face. Tears had made traces down her face and more tears followed those. She did not bother to wipe them away, choosing instead to let them fall to her robe to be absorbed by the cloth. Jorem went to her and knelt at her feet.

  “Jen,” he whispered.

  “Jorem!” she cried.

  Jennifer launched herself at him, too late remembering he was not physically there. Tumbling down, she landed in a heap on the floor. Jorem turned to help her up, but there was nothing he could do. Watching her pick herself up, Jorem couldn’t help but chuckle. She glared at him as she moved to a sitting position on the floor.

  “I thought I was the one who’s supposed to spend my time falling down,” he said with a smile. “You obviously need a lot more practice at it.”

  Her glare turned into a smirk and then a smile. “I’m going to have bruises all over.”

  “Your mother’s going to think you’ve been trying to teach me to dance again.”

  Jen chuckled at his reminder of their dance lessons. Then she started to giggle. “You were so clumsy,” she said, still giggling.

  “And you were so proper,” Jorem laughed as he sat down beside her.

  She was quiet for a moment. “Is it over?” she asked quietly.

  Jorem nodded. “The battle, yes. The war, I fear not.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “After I put Cragg Keep back together?” At Jen’s nod he continued. “Continue north, I suppose. See if there are any survivors. Track down any remaining enemy forces. Once we get to the border, I’ll send word to the capital on the situation.”

  “You could…,” Jen hesitated and bit her lip. “You could come here.”

  Her words hung in the air, an invitation to come home. Jorem looked into her eyes and found what he was missing—home. Wherever they were, if they were together, they would be home. Something inside of him clicked into place. At her side was where he belonged.

  “I will,” he said firmly, “as soon as this is finished.”

  Jen nodded in understanding. They sat quietly for a while, content just being together. Jen sighed and looked at Jorem. Her eyebrows rose and she got a worried look on her face.

  “You look terrible,” she said bluntly.

  Jorem smiled and shook his head. “It has been a rough day.”

  “No,” Jen interrupted. “I mean you’ve been injured. You’re bleeding.” She reached out a hand in frustration. “I can’t do anything like this. If you were really here or I there I could fix you up.”

  “Well, I couldn’t get to you, even if I knew exactly where you are,” Jorem said lightly. “So, unless you have a mage handy, willing to transport you here, I guess I’ll have to do with bandages and time.

  Jen slumped. “There aren’t any mages here and there won’t be for a while. And the stupid Vorh won’t do anything unless a Dragon Mage commands it to.”

  “What’s a Vorh?”

  “They’re like a giant lizard with wings. The Dragon Mages use them when they want to send something, or someone, without using magic. They hide somewhere at Dawnsword. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You need to get those cuts looked at.”

  “I will,” Jorem replied, even though he had no desire to leave.

  Jen looked at him sternly. “Go!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

  Jen and the room around him gradually faded. The next thing he knew, the ground was coming up to meet his face.

  ************

  “I’ve really got to figure out how to do that without falling on my face,” Jorem said as he got back up.

  “Do what?” Neth asked in confusion.

  Jorem shook his head, “Never mind.”

  Looking around, the oppressiveness of the situation struck him. Reading about battles and wars was one thing. This scene gave truth to the saying that war has no victors. A queasy feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. The more he saw, the more nauseated he became. Swallowing hard to keep the bile from rising any further, Jorem wiped the grime from his blade and sheathed it. The other sword he tossed absently to the ground.

  An old woman came staggering out of the doorway. She looked frail and weak. The dark stains on the tines of the pitchfork she held proved she was not. Slowly others emerged. Most were battered and several were bloodied. Hector came limping through the gate, sword still in hand. A few others trailed in behind him.

  Chapter XXI

  The sun was nearing the horizon by the time they had gathered back in the Keep all who remained alive. Of Jorem’s men, only Conrad, Hector and two others, Bertran and Jensen, were left. Neth’s mother, Lady Bethania was severely wounded, but likely to live. Less than a dozen of the elderly survived. They were a very somber group as those who could, treated the wounds of those who could not.

  The children, it turned out, had made the difference during the battle. They had confused the enemy with their slings and simple stones. Whenever the enemy soldiers had pressed upon the defenders, they had been struck from behind by an unseen assailant. Unable to see their tormentors, the enemy soldiers had never been able to mount a concerted attack.

  As more and more of the adults learned of what the children had done, the children received great praise. Soon the children were boasting of their prowess and showing off their abilities. Their antics managed to bring smiles to the faces of some. These were strong people. Whatever hardships came, as long as they had each other, they would be fine.

  Compared to his men, or what was left of his men, Jorem was in fairly good shape. Even Neth had taken more damage than he. Although the battle had been won, he was still worried. His scouts hadn’t ventured beyond the mages. Was there yet another group coming after the one they had just faced? It was a question to which he needed an answer.

  Hector sat with his back against a wall. One of his legs had a thick bandage wrapped around it. Like Jorem and Neth, he had nicks and cuts all over. In fact, Jorem doubted there was an adult in the Keep without at least one bandage showing. Jorem pushed himself up and went over to Hector.

  “I’m going for a walk,” Jorem said in a low voice.

  “Do you think there are more coming?” Hector asked.

  “Let’s hope not, but I’m going to go see, just in case.”

  “I’d go with you, but I’d just slow you down.” Hector patted his bandaged leg for emphasis.

  Jorem nodded at the offer. “You stay here. I should be back by first light. Put two lookouts on the wall, but keep the rest inside. Whatever’s there,” Jorem nodded towards the door, “will be best dealt with in the daylight.”

  Jorem didn’t wait for a response. Walking quickly, he slipped out the door before anyone noticed. Doing his best to ignore the grisly scene around him, he set off at a jog, exiting through the gates and heading across the clearing. Thanks to the work of the enemy soldiers, the trenches were easy to cross, although not for the faint of heart. As he neared the tree line, he stopped where the stone building had stood.

  In the building’s place was a crater several hand spans deep. The ground was scorched all around the center. Not so much as a single stone remained. The ground was bare for some distance around the crater. From there, debris and black-clad warriors were scattered like kindling. The last bit of daylight was fading as Jorem entered the forest and immediately came face to face with a giant of a man.

  Jorem threw himself to the side. A quick tumble and he was up with his sword out. The other had not moved. It took a moment for him to realize that a huge wooden stake protruded from the man’s chest. This, then, would be the man Jacobs had shot with the Power Bow. Pinned to the trunk of a large tree, he now stood in mute silence.

  Sheathing his sword, Jorem turned to go. Glancing back at the dead man, he shook himself to get his nerves settled back down and his heart rate back to normal.

  “Hang in there. I’ll be back later to take care of you.”

  Wasting no more time, Jorem headed off thro
ugh the trees. The sun was down but the moon and stars had yet to appear. As the darkness crept in, it became more difficult to navigate between the trees. Thanks to the passage of so many men and creatures, however, the brush had been trampled down, making it a bit easier than it would have been otherwise.

  As true dark arrived, Jorem slowed to a walk. The moon now shined overhead and the stars twinkled to life. As his eyes adjusted, the white light from the moon and stars leeched the color from his surroundings. The trees and shrubs were discernible now, but everything was in varying shades of gray and black.

  Picking up his pace, Jorem weaved his way through the trees and deadfall. His breathing was a deep, steady rhythm in cadence with his steps. Eyes alert for any movement, ears pricked to sense any sounds that were out of place, he moved as quietly as possible, a whisper in the deep of the forest.

  Occasionally, he would stop and listen. The silence was somewhat unnerving. Even the wildlife had abandoned the area with the passing of the enemy forces. It reminded him of a clearing he’d encountered some time ago. The place he’d met his first shimmerik. There were no bones here though, unless you counted the skeletal appearance of some of the trees.

  A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the experience. He had been lucky that time, very lucky indeed. Had the men following him not rushed to his aid, he would have died there. If Jen hadn’t shown up in the nick of time, he’d have died anyway. So many coincidental things happening all at the same time—it was almost enough to make him think someone, or something, was watching over him.

  He continued on into the night. He was tired—bone-weary tired—but he went on. This was not his first night without sleep and probably would not be his last. He sighted the place where the army had camped the night before. He slowed his pace just in case anyone remained, but there was no one to be found.

  Checking the position of the moon to estimate the time, he moved on. Sweat ran down his back. The terrain was rugged and seldom level. Uphill was more strenuous, but downhill was more treacherous. More than once he nearly slipped and fell. With occasional stops to rest, Jorem worked his way northward. He found two more enemy campsites before he figured it was time to head back to Cragg Keep.

  Just as he was about to turn around, he came upon a small farmhouse. The house sat at the edge of what likely had once been a meadow. Now it was a neatly cultivated field. Kneeling down for a closer look, Jorem saw that the field had already been planted. Rows of newly sprouted plants stretched out across the field.

  The door to the house had been torn from its frame. The inside was too dark to make out any details. From the moonlight coming in through a window, he could see that the front room had been torn to pieces. Shredded rags hung in the window and smashed furniture lay strewn about. The fetid smell of death overcame his desire to investigate further.

  A quick look around the outside of the house gave little evidence of what he’d found inside. Behind the house he discovered a small stream. Walking upstream a ways, he sat and drank his fill. After drinking, he sat for a while listening to the water as it trickled on its way. Such brutality in such a peaceful place.

  “What would it have been like,” Jorem wondered, “to have lived here so far from the world’s troubles?”

  “You can’t hide from the world,” Jorem said quietly to himself. “Eventually the world will find you, and it always brings its troubles with it.”

  ************

  The trip back to Cragg Keep was uneventful. As he started across the clearing, he was pleased to hear a shout from someone on the wall. Whoever was on guard was awake and alert. The sun was not up yet, but there was light enough to see by. The watcher must have been intent on their duty and amazing vision, for the light was dim enough to have concealed his passing. It was good to know there would be no one sneaking up on them.

  It was strange walking across the clearing. Bodies lay everywhere. Many of them appeared to have just lain down for a nap. The closer to the Keep he got, the greater their numbers. The courtyard was something out of a nightmare. In some areas, the dead were piled two and three high. All was silent. The stillness of it was a bit unnerving.

  It was a relief to close the door of the Keep behind him. In the days to come there would be great sadness for loved ones lost, but life would go on. The light from a few candles gave off a warm glow to each room he passed. No one would want to spend time in the dark for a while. These people had survived physically, but it would take time for their emotions to recover.

  The dining hall was deserted. Even so, there were candles burning there as well. Someone had left a plate of food out for anyone who needed a bite to eat during the night. Jorem gratefully took advantage of the offering. After wolfing down a few bites, he went to the library.

  There a single candle burned on a small round table in the middle of the room. There was no one in the room and the candle had burnt so low it would only last another mark or so. Jorem selected a comfortable chair and sat down. Shadows danced around the room as Jorem’s passing caused the candle to flicker. Allowing his exhaustion to overcome him, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter XXII

  “…rem, Jorem.” The voice drifted around him like dense fog. “Jorem, wake up!” the voice came again.

  For a moment he thought he was in the blacksmith shop, but the smells were all wrong. The inn perhaps, but no, that didn’t feel right either. A hand grasped his shoulder and shook him. Blearily, he opened one eye. The blurry image of a face came to view, hovering a hand span above his own.

  Blinking a few times, he managed to get both eyes open. Two sky-blue eyes stared down at him. He knew those eyes. He also knew that when they were this close he was about to experience a significant amount of pain. Unfortunately, he had no route for escape. Resigning himself to it, he braced himself for the blow.

  “Jorem?”

  This time the voice was softer, less insistent. The fogginess of sleep began to lift. Bits of his surroundings started to materialize—books, shelves, a desk, a pen propped up in an inkwell. With those clues, his mind finally caught up to the present. Neth stood over him, hands on her hips. Other than a few new cuts on her face, she looked like she always had—crisp, clear and dangerous.

  Jorem yawned and stretched. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The candle on the table had burnt out, so it had been at least a mark since he’d fallen asleep, probably more. Neth waited quietly if not patiently for him to come to full wakefulness.

  “How is your mother?” he asked before she could speak.

  “She lost a lot of blood and she won’t be walking around much for a while, but she should be fine.” Neth paused for a moment then asked, “Is there anything else out there?”

  Jorem shook his head. “Nothing close, nothing alive anyway.”

  Neth swallowed hard at his statement. “Should I signal Cort to bring the rest back up?”

  Jorem thought about the situation before answering. “Sure,” he said. “It should be all right. Can we get a couple of watchers out into the woods? Someone who could go a few marks out and make it back quickly if they see anything?”

  “I’ll have someone out there right away,” Neth replied. “Anything else?”

  “Let me grab a bite to eat and pour some water over my head, then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  Neth turned and left without another word. Something was bothering her. He didn’t know what it was, but she was acting odd. At least it was odd for her. Levering himself out of the chair, he went in search of food. The little he’d had last night was not going to hold him for long.

  He could smell something cooking long before he got to the kitchen. At the moment, he didn’t even care what it was. A large pot was simmering on the stove. Wisps of steam rose out of the pot and spread an enticing aroma throughout the room and out into the hallway. Before he could even get close to the pot, a short, wiry old woman planted herself in front of him.

  One of her
arms was in a sling. In the other hand, she held a large wooden spoon. She held the spoon up, pointing it menacingly at Jorem. “Not a step farther, young man!” she scolded. “Before you take another step into my kitchen, you get yourself cleaned up. Something’s likely to fall off of you into the porridge and then no one will have anything to eat.

  Lowering the spoon, the old woman folded her arms and stood glaring at him. Considering how small she was, he easily could have picked her up and moved her aside. The way she gripped the spoon, he figured he would end up with a few knots on his head if he did. With a smile and a nod, he ducked out of the kitchen and headed for the washroom.

  A large barrel in one corner provided clean water. Pitchers and basins lined a bench along one wall and a drain at the far end of the room allowed for convenient disposal of dirty water. Taking up a pitcher, he filled it at the barrel then splashed some water into a basin. He had to repeat the process several times before he was done. He hadn’t realized just how dirty he was.

  When he returned to the kitchen, there was already a bowl set out for him. As soon as he arrived, the old woman ladled out a healthy portion for him. Along with the porridge, she gave him a large chunk of bread. It wasn’t freshly baked, but that wouldn’t stop him from eating it.

  “Well,” the old woman chided, “don’t just stand there. You’ve a lot of work to do and you won’t be doing it on an empty stomach.”

  Thanking the woman for the food, Jorem went to the dining hall to find a place to sit. After a while, Conrad came shambling in. He was moving stiffly and one whole side of his face was bruised. The old scout set his meal on the table and collapsed into a chair. Eventually, Hector wandered in and sat with them.

  None of them spoke until their meal was finished. Jorem was unsure of the others, but for him it took most of his energy and attention just to eat without dozing off. The little bit of sleep he had gotten hadn’t been nearly enough. Unfortunately, it was likely to be late tonight before he got any more. Finishing the last of his porridge, Jorem sat back and stretched.