Hector slumped forward, resting his elbows on the table. Conrad leaned back and folded his arms. Not a one of them was anxious to start on the day’s tasks. They sat that way for a while before Conrad finally stirred.
“Them were some good men we lost yesterday,” he said somberly.
A lump formed in Jorem’s gut. Those men had followed him. He was responsible for them and a feeling of guilt washed over him. Had he been wrong to stay here? Would he feel less guilty if his men were still alive and the monsters and army had gone on into the kingdom? At least then he wouldn’t know those who died. Or would he?
He had accomplished the task—the battle had been won, the enemy had been vanquished. But the lives of the men and women of Cragg who had sacrificed themselves, as well as the lives of his own men, was his burden to bear. It was something he would have to live with.
“Most of us don’t got no kin,” Conrad said, interrupting Jorem’s ruminating. “A few of ‘em did though. I’m guessin’ someone oughta let ‘em know what happened to ‘em.”
The lump in his stomach twisted into a knot. Writing letters to families to let them know their son or brother or father or husband would not be coming home was just one more responsibility of leadership. The more he dealt with those responsibilities, the less he liked being in charge. It had all looked so glamorous when he was younger—parades, honors and admirers. Where was the glamor now?
“Don’t worry about it, Con,” Jorem replied. “I’ll take care of the letters to the families tonight.”
“Mighty glad to hear that, ‘cause my letterin’ ain’t so good.”
Hector snorted. “Con, you sign your name with an ‘X.’”
A large grin covered Conrad’s face. “Aye,” he said, “but ain’t nobody can sign an ‘X’ quite as perty as me. ‘Sides, that smudge you put down ain’t much better.”
“It’s not a smudge,” Hector huffed, “it’s a glyph.”
Jorem listened as the two men bantered back and forth. Just yesterday, they were fighting for their lives. Now, they sat here needling each other about their writing skills, or lack thereof. He knew they were just letting off steam, but it was amusing nonetheless. Most people did something unusual or physically exerting to relieve stress and anxiety. These two accomplished the same thing by sitting around jawing at one another.
Before they got to more inventive insults, Jorem interrupted them. “Have either of you seen Pentrothe?”
“He’s still sleepin’,” Conrad said. “Got a room all to hisself, an’ that ain’t likely to change.”
“No doubt there,” Hector chimed in. “I have never, in my life, heard anyone snore with such ferocity. Compared to him, Conrad sounds like a purrin’ kitten.”
“After the show he put on, he deserves all the sleep he wants,” Conrad said. “The way he took care of them mages, that’s somethin’ I’ll be yarnin’ about fer a time.”
“I have heard he is favored by the Dragon Mages,” Hector pondered. “We were fortunate he arrived when he did.”
Jorem could not argue about the help Pentrothe had been, If not for the wizard and his powder Jorem had no idea how they would have eliminated the mages. Better for everyone to think it had been magic in the powder that had caused the explosion. Knowledge of what that powder could do when used in large quantities was better off in the hands of a few.
Jorem stood and stretched. “As much as I’d prefer to avoid doing what needs doing, if we don’t get started, it’ll never get done.”
At the mockingly confused looks from the two men, Jorem leaned down and placed his hands on the table so that they were all eye to eye.
“There’s a dirty job to do outside and I volunteered both of you.”
Hector sighed in resignation. Conrad slapped him on the shoulder as he stood.
“You heard the man, let’s get to it. Better to get it done now than wait until it’s messier than it already is.”
With so few able adults left there was no way they would be able to bury all of the dead. Those of Cragg Keep who had died they buried together along with the men Jorem had lost. The enemy they tossed into the chasm as they had the monsters with enough wood to build a large fire. The smell of burning flesh would stay with them for many days to come.
Chapter XXIII
Later that night, those who had retreated to the chasm began arriving. Fortunately they had not been forced to destroy the passage down to the bottom of the chasm, even so their trip up the passageway had been much more difficult than the trip down. It was good to have the young children bouncing about again. With their boundless energy, they brought life back to the Keep. With children to tend, the adults fell back into their normal routine.
As the night deepened, everyone started disappearing to their sleeping quarters. Jorem should have been amongst the first, but somehow he was not sleepy. He wandered about the Keep for some time until he finally ended up in the library. There he found Neth sitting at the hearth of a small fireplace. Flames flickered from a bed of glowing coals.
As he approached, he noticed tears trailing down Neth’s cheeks. Feeling himself on unfamiliar ground, Jorem nearly turned and left. Instead he sat down next to her. She tried wiping the tears from her face, but more fell to take their place. He considered offering his shoulder, but knew she would not accept. Even in her weakest moment, she had to be strong.
Taking a few sticks from a pile of wood next to the hearth, Jorem stoked the fire. The greedy flames accepted them hungrily. As the flames grew with new fuel, a haunted look on Neth’s face was revealed. She didn’t look at him. Her gaze was locked on the flickering flames of the fire.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jorem asked quietly.
Neth sniffed. All was quiet save for the occasional pop and hiss of the fire. Jorem waited. If she chose to talk, he would listen. If not, he would stay with her as long as needed. Some battles had to be fought from within. Even then it was good to have someone at your side.
“Years ago, friends of my father came to visit.” Neth’s voice was quiet and strained. “They had a boy with them, nearly my age. We didn’t get along at all. When they left, my parents told me that when I got older that boy would be my husband. I didn’t understand at the time.
“The older I got, the more I resented it. I wanted nothing to do with an arranged marriage. When he came to stay with us, it only got worse. I had to be better than him in everything. How many times I thrashed him at arms I can’t even count. When my father told me it was time to wed, I packed my things and left.”
Jorem sat quietly as she spoke. Like him, she seldom spoke of her past. Like him, she had chosen to be someone else, to separate herself from family and friends. Her reasons were different from his, but the need to be her own person was much the same.
“I left because of him,” she continues. “Now he is all I think about. He is not a fighter, not like you and me.” She paused as a few more tears etched their way down her face. “He has gone to fight a war and I may never see him again.”
Jorem reached over and placed a hand over hers. Her hand was cold to the touch. What could he say? After the battle they’d fought, it was clear that this Dark Mage cared nothing for the lives of his own men, let alone the lives of his foes. What they had faced was likely just a small, specialized group sent to attack behind the lines. The main force would be far larger and much more devastating.
“I read once,” Jorem murmured, “that life is what you make of it. There is some truth in that, but mostly I think life is just life. It’s how we face what we’re given that counts. Hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst.
“Hope that he returns and I’ll hope with you. Besides, if he’s stuck around this long, he’ll be wanting to come back just in case he can bring you around.”
“You think?”
“He’d be a fool not to.”
She sat quietly for a while. The tears had stopped, but her face was still blotchy. Wiping her face with her arm in an unla
dylike fashion, Neth sniffed and glared at Jorem.
“If you tell anyone you found me crying my eyes out, I’ll pound you into the ground!”
“No one would believe me if I did,” Jorem replied. “What brought this on anyway?”
“The man you brought in a few days ago,” Neth said. “The one you said was sent to kill you.”
“Jacobs?”
“Yes, Jacobs. I found him out there.” Neth turned her face back to the fire. “He reminded me of Londrew. Something about his face and the way he moved. He was backed into a corner, but he never stopped fighting until he stopped breathing. Bodies were piled around him, two and three high. When I saw him there, I saw Londrew. I’ve not been able to get the sight from my mind.”
Neth shook herself and stood. “I need to get some sleep. You should as well,” she said, looking at Jorem.
“I have a few things to take care of before I can sleep. Go, I will see you in the morning.”
As Nethira left, Jorem went over to a desk that was tucked into a corner of the room. Rummaging through the drawer, he found paper, quill and a bottle of ink. Taking a deep breath, he settled himself into a chair. He was unsure which of his men had families. In retrospect, he wished he had gotten to know them better. They were all good men and deserved more than to be forgotten in a battle of which few would ever hear.
They had been thirteen when they arrived; with Jacobs, they would have been fourteen. Now they were five. It took until late into the night before he finished the nine letters. The last one he addressed to the Duke of Broughbor. Few knew Jacobs to be the Duke’s brother, Cobren. Jorem knew and he wanted the Duke to know what an honorable man Cobren had been. He may have been the King’s assassin, but, in the end, he had been a defender of the people.
************
When Jorem awoke the next morning, he was still in the library. When he finally managed to get himself sitting up in the chair he had been sprawled in, he came face to face with Lady Bethania. She was dressed in a long black gown that almost managed to hide the bandages on her arms and legs. Only the bulges belied their presence. She sat primly in a chair facing him.
Jorem’s first thought was that he needed to get more sleep. There was no way he should be sleeping so heavily that someone could get that close without him waking. Next, he noticed how rumpled and disheveled he was, especially compared to the meticulously attired woman before him. Gradually, the cobwebs cleared from his sleeping mind. Combing his fingers through his hair and tugging his shirt a little straighter, he tried to focus on Neth’s mother.
“Prince Jorem,” she said formally when she decided he was ready.
Jorem held up his hand. “Jorem, just Jorem.”
The corner of Lady Bethania’s mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
“My daughter told me she had never met a man more deserving of the title of ‘Prince’ than you. Not long ago, I thought her to have lost her senses. In the short time you have been here, however, I have found her to be correct. You are not what I expected from the accounts I had heard of you, nor do you comport yourself as your brothers do.
“Should you ever need… support, in the years to come, you can count on the people of Cragg Keep. We will stand with you through whatever may come.”
It took a moment for Jorem to catch on to Lady Bethania’s meaning. When he did figure it out, he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased at the compliment or alarmed at the insinuation. He was almost afraid to respond. The wrong words could commit these people to treason. The Kingdom was in the midst of a war from another land. To start a civil war now would ensure all of their destruction.
“You are very kind,” Jorem temporized. “This is a dangerous time for the Kingdom. We have enemies without who wish to destroy us. There are also some within who are aiding our enemy. Some of these have been dealt with while others remain hidden. Our focus must be on defending our people and our land from these invaders. Once that is done, we will need time to rebuild our homes and our families. We must remain united in this endeavor if we are to survive. As a people, as a land, we must stand together.”
Lady Bethania smiled at Jorem. Slowly, she stood. Considering her injuries, she managed to stand quite gracefully. One step and she was at Jorem’s side. Gently, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from rising. Tilting his head up to look at her, he saw that she, like Neth, had sky-blue eyes.
“I heard rumor that the King had sent someone to… eliminate you.” Bethania’s voice was cool and smooth.
“I’d heard that as well,” Jorem responded.
“And yet you still serve the crown?”
“I serve the people, and I will continue to do so, so long as there is breath in me.”
Lady Bethania stood gazing at him. The silence drew out until it was almost uncomfortable. Bending slightly, Bethania softly kissed Jorem’s forehead. She straightened and gently ran her hand over his head. When Jorem looked, he saw her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Your mother would be so proud of you. She was my dearest friend when we were young. You remind me of her.”
With those kind words, the matron of Cragg Keep turned and left the room. Her footsteps were a bare whisper as she crossed the floor. Jorem had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. Having someone compliment him was such an unfamiliar thing he was unsure how to react. He knew so little about his mother other than that she was beloved by the people. It would be nice to think she would be proud of him, for who he was. Shaking off the feeling, he reached down beside the chair and retrieved his sword. Strapping it on, he braced himself for another day.
Chapter XXIV
Jorem and his men remained at Cragg Keep for a few days to rest and recuperate. He had Neth send a message to the capital by bird, letting them know of the attack and of the result of the battle. She was careful to make no mention of him or of his well-being. Were it not for a feeling of urgency felt only by Jorem, they might have remained at Cragg for the duration of the war, but Jorem could not. Some unseen force kept pestering at him night and day.
When he announced his intent to be on his way the next morning, there was some moaning and groaning—not from his men, but from the children. Jorem had noticed it before, but now it became quite obvious. Many of the children had claimed one or another of his men as their own. Each of the men had his own little entourage following him about and running errands.
It also had become apparent that the children, as well as many of the adults, were avoiding Jorem. They weren’t shunning him, nor were they in any way rude to him. If he spoke to them or asked a question, they answered politely, if somewhat timidly. At the first opportunity, they would excuse themselves and flee. Jorem had convinced himself that they were just responding to his role as leader until he caught Neth looking at him from the corner of her eye.
“What?” Jorem demanded quietly but forcefully.
“It’s nothing,” Neth said dismissively. “I’m just a little concerned about you.”
Jorem looked at his hands and then down at the rest of his body. He could see nothing amiss. He had a few cuts and nicks here and there, but none of them were serious and they were all healing nicely.
“Why, have I broken out in spots or something?”
“No, it’s just that…,” Neth hesitated, then drew Jorem over to a secluded corner. “During the fighting, did anything… odd happen to you?”
“Odd?” Jorem asked puzzled. “You mean like nearly being killed a few dozen times?”
“No, not that. It’s just that, some of the children came to me afterward. They saw you fighting in the Keep.”
“I chased a group of soldiers into the Keep,” Jorem said, still not understanding. “I knew there were children hiding in there and I couldn’t leave them defenseless. I’m sure it wasn’t a pretty thing to witness, but I had to stop them.”
“It wasn’t the fighting that scared them,” Neth said with concern. “They said you were growling, snarling really, like
some kind of wild beast. I heard it too, but I didn’t realize it was you.”
Jorem stood staring at her for a while, thinking. He remembered most of the battle. Portions of it were a blur, but not all. Thinking back, he recalled letting go of that side of him he had always kept tucked away—that little part he had always been just a little afraid of. He also recalled the surge of energy it had given him.
“I suppose,” Jorem said hesitantly, “that in the heat of battle I may have had a touch of anger, but I don’t recall growling at anyone. I suppose we all have a side of ourselves that is a little uncivilized.”
“True enough,” Neth replied, “but most of us don’t growl.”
“Right. I’ll uh, try to keep that under control. Speaking of control, I wish I could talk you into coming with us.”
Neth shook her head. “This is where I need to be. As it stands, a small band of bandits could wipe this place out. Besides, if you run into trouble, you’ll need a place to run to.”
“Fair enough,” Jorem agreed amiably.
“I don’t suppose I could talk you into sparring with me before you leave?” Neth asked with a glint in her eyes.
“Have you missed pounding me into the ground that much?” Jorem laughed.
“Ha! It would be good for you,” Neth snarled back at him. “And it wouldn’t hurt for the little ones to see that fighting doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”
“Okay,” Jorem agreed, “but instead of sparring, how about we do the training dance you so enjoyed teaching me with.”
“Mmmmm… even better,” Neth purred. “In the courtyard in half a mark?”
“I’ll be there.”
************
When Jorem got to the courtyard, Neth was already there. She was wearing the same mottled-gray shirt and pants she’d worn the first time they’d met. This time was different though. He was no longer the student. They stood more as equals, strengthened by hardship, bound by friendship and respect.
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